Savage is dying. Kerri says, “Get your mom on the phone and tell her to meet us at Mesa Vet Clinic. Tell her Sixth and Harlan. It’s the closest one I could find to her office.”
I don’t move. In my arms I hold Savage’s limp and lifeless body. I stare at the bloody drool dribbling out his mouth and soaking through the towel.
Kerri sneezes. “Nick, please.” She twists away and blows her nose. “She’ll want to be there at the end.” My brain engages.
The End.
Kerri asks, “Where do you keep your cat carrier? In the garage?”
Carrier? What carrier? Savage never went anywhere, besides the one trip in a duct-taped box from the old house to the new. He’s feral — you can’t catch him. That’s how I knew he was dying. He let me walk right up to him and pick him up. He was on the back stoop, lying on his side, glassy-eyed.
“I’ll just carry him,” I tell Kerri. I shift the bunched-up towel, and Kerri reaches out like I’m going to drop him. “You call Mom,” I tell her. “I have to call Jo.”
Kerri acts like she wants to debate this, but the defiance in my voice must change her mind. Good decision. She gets on her cell. One-handed, I flip mine open and punch the speed dial number for Jo.
My cell phone was Kerri’s idea, so Mom and I could stay in touch. Right. So if there was an emergency at home, I could call Mom. Sure. The only way Mom agreed to let me stay home by myself was if I called to check in every hour on the hour.
Like that happens.
A few minutes later we’re speeding down the freeway. Savage lifts his head once and growls. I say, “It’s okay, boy.” I gently stroke him with my index finger.
“How long have you had him?” Kerri asks.
Shut up, I think. I hate when she talks to me. We’ve talked enough already today. In my peripheral vision I notice she’s done something different with her hair. It’s blue-black except for the bleached blond streaks in front down her face. She thinks she’s so cool. She’s all pierced. She’s a freak.
She sneezes again and digs in her bag. She pulls out a snot rag. “Look, I know how hard this is for you.” She blows her nose. “My parents were divorced when I was eight.”
“So?”
“So I’ve been there.”
No, you haven’t, I scream inside. It’s not the same. Is she stupid, or what?
“My dad abandoned us, basically. Just sort of left us for dead. I remember feeling like it was all my fault.”
“It probably was,” I say. You’re so weird. I don’t say that.
Kerri’s looking at me and her eyes are smiling. “Smartass,” she goes.
I don’t want to joke around with her. She’s not Jo. Savage is dying. “Where’s Taco?” I say.
Kerri frowns. “What?” She flicks the right turn signal and swerves toward the Harlan Street exit. The traffic is backed up on the off ramp. “Damn,” Kerri says. “This had to happen at rush hour.”
“Taco,” I repeat. “Takashi. Your son. Remember him?” The one you abandoned?
She lays on the horn and merges between two SUVs. She’s so hyper it makes me jumpy. “He’s not my son. Dammit! Let me in.” She bolts forward. “He’s Reiko’s, and so, naturally, he’s with her.” Kerri’s eyes dart across at me. She bears down on the accelerator. “He never really liked me. We never, you know, bonded.” Kerri’s cell chirrups. “Would you get that? If it’s your mom, tell her we’re stuck on Harlan. We’re about ten minutes away.”
I don’t get her phone. I’m not about to dig around in her personal belongings and used snot rags.
The phone rings and rings. Kerri looks at me. I look away. Eventually, she plunges a hand into her purse and retrieves the cell. The ringing’s stopped by then. She says, “Reiko and I weren’t together all that long. She wasn’t into commitment.” She tosses the cell on the dash and lays on the horn. “Anyway, I thought Takashi was kind of a spoiled brat. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Like I see him. That kid was a freak too.
“How’s Savage?” Kerri asks.
I finger his head, but he doesn’t move. Come on, Savage. Breathe.
We get to the bottom of the ramp, and Kerri hangs a right. She says, “What happened between your mom and Jo wasn’t anyone’s fault. It happens.”
Don’t talk to me.
“You think it’s my fault, don’t you? You blame me.”
She’s stupid and psychic.
“Look, I don’t know what Jo told you —”
“She didn’t tell me anything. If you’re going to clean our house again don’t touch my stuff. Don’t use the downstairs bathroom. It’s mine. And next time you do my laundry, leave it in the laundry room. Don’t come in my room — ever.” I adjust Savage on my lap. See if he’ll growl, twitch. BREATHE.
I expect Kerri to yell at me or cuss me out or something so I can retaliate. Because I hate her. I hate what she did to us.
She gazes straight ahead. “I’m sorry, Nick,” she says. “I know how much it hurts.”
I almost throw Savage in her face. She doesn’t know. It’s not the same and she knows it. “You don’t know what hurt is,” I say.
She looks all crushed. Faker.
We don’t talk the rest of the way.
Savage is gone by the time we reach the vet clinic. Mom’s there. She rushes over and takes Savage from my arms. “He’s dead,” I say.
“Oh, honey . . .” She buries her face in the towel. Kerri puts her arms around Mom and touches her head to Mom’s. “I’m sorry, babe,” she says. Her voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”
Faker. Liar.
Jo isn’t here, out front on the sidewalk, or visible through the glass entryway. I go inside and search around the waiting area. No Jo. I cross to a shelf of brochures and wedge behind the potted plant for privacy. I call her.
“Nick,” she answers on the first ring. “How is he?”
“Where are you?” I say. “We’re at the vet’s. Mesa Clinic. You said you knew where it was.”
“How is he?” Jo repeats. “Is he . . . ?”
“Dead.”
“Oh, Nicky.” She exhales audible pain. “Nick.”
Now the tears I’ve been holding back start to gush. I sink into the nearest chair and curl into a knot. “Where are you?” I say again.
“I’m home,” Jo answers. Now she’s crying too. “How’s your mom?”
“Why aren’t you here?” I whimper. “I want you here.” I clutch the phone tighter to my ear.
“I know. I know. I just . . . I can’t. Not yet. I’m sorry, Nick. I can’t be where she is. How is she? Erin? Your mom, how’s she taking it?”
I rubberneck around the plant. Mom and Kerri are near the reception desk, nodding at a woman in green scrubs who’s got a stethoscope around her neck. Tears stream down Mom’s cheeks. Kerri stands back. I was right; her eyes are dry. She’s cold. I don’t know why I’m bawling. Savage never really liked me or Jo that much; he was Mom’s cat.
No, that’s not true. He was our cat. Mine and Mom’s and Jo’s. We loved him. We all did.
I bury my head in my knees while Jo says stuff like, “He’s in heaven now. He’s happy now.”
“Nick?” Kerri looms at the side of my chair. “We’re going.” She lowers herself to the armrest and adds, “Are you okay?” Her hand weights down my head.
I stand up fast. “I have to go,” I tell Jo. “I’ll call you later.” I flip my cell shut.
Swiping my eyes on my arm, I brush by Kerri and head off to find Mom. She’s outside at the curb. Empty-handed.
“Where’s Savage?” I say.
Mom engulfs me in a hug. She’s crying so hard I almost lose it again.
“Where is he?”
Mom inhales a stuttered breath. “He’s gone, honey.”
“I know that. Where is he?” I slip out of her arms.
She glances over my shoulder to the door, where Kerri is emerging from the clinic. Also empty-handed.
“Where. Is. Savage?” I speak the words distinctly so they can’t be misunderstood. So Mom can’t ignore me.
She looks to Kerri. Kerri answers, “The vet clinic takes care of everything. They dispose of animal bodies.”
“No!” I shout. “That’s not how we do it.” My stomach clenches. “Tell her, Mom.”
Mom says . . . nothing.
“Mom!” I yell right in her face. “We have to bury Savage. We saved a place, remember?” Next to Lucky 2 and my Kuhli loach. Alongside all my fish. A place of honor and respect.
Mom runs a hand down the length of my arm.
I jerk away. “Go get him,” I order Kerri.
“Nick, I —”
“Get. Him.”
Kerri casts Mom this helpless what-do-I-do? look. Mom touches my shoulder. “We can’t,” she says. “It’s illegal. There’s a new law that animal bodies have to be disposed of by a licensed removal company. People aren’t supposed to bury their pets anymore. I’m sorry, honey.”
Illegal? How can it be illegal to keep your family together?
I panic. I can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen to Savage. Will they just throw him in a Dumpster and bag him with the trash? Will they crush him, or incinerate his body? They’ll shovel his ashes out of an oven, then what?
“This is your fault.” I point at Kerri. My finger shakes. “If we didn’t bring him here he could’ve died at home and we could’ve buried him. No one would’ve known. That’s how we do it.”
Kerri throws up her hands. “Yeah, it’s all my fault. Everything is my fault.” Her eyes swell and she storms past us to her car.
Faker.
Unexpectedly, Mom spins me around to face her. “What a horrible thing to say. Go apologize.” She shoves me toward Kerri.
I stumble off the curb and fall to my knees. Mom is racing for Kerri, so I scrabble to my feet and dust off my pants, my hands. Then I turn and march toward Mom’s car. Never, I think. I’ll never forgive her.